


Here There Be Monsters

by AphroditesTummyRolls



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Feral Mermaid Nicky, For polarcell on tumblr, Injured Joe, M/M, Marine Biologist Joe, Maritime Archaeology, Tender Nicky, The Little Mermaid AU but TOTALLY NOT LIKE SO SO NOT, WARNING FOR SEMI-GRAPHIC ALMOST DROWNING, because I'm an archaeologist and coincidentally a total nerd, i think, just... just try it I did a good job, oh yeah i forgot:, reckless use of the Italian language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:00:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26738524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AphroditesTummyRolls/pseuds/AphroditesTummyRolls
Summary: He knew he should head back. He knew it.Joe checked his oxygen levels as he swam around the perimeter of the ship, past the hull and into the shadowy cavern of the wreck itself. He had time. He had to see this creature for himself— if they could figure out what it was, Joe could maybe figure out how to get it to leave. He could maybe figure out a way to protect it from Merrick and his money.He didn’t make any signals back to Andy— not a word. He couldn’t spare the brain power, not when any nook or cranny could hold that unidentified creature. Possibly dangerous creature.**EDIT 10/20: added little extra bits of exposition and character, now that this is officially no longer a oneshot, and is definitely multi chapter.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 62
Kudos: 229





	Here There Be Monsters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Arktikko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arktikko/gifts).



> So, this came out of nowhere. 
> 
> Yesterday (never let it be said that I don't hop on it whenever the muse strikes me), I saw a beautiful headcanon post by polarcell on tumblr about marine biologist Joe getting saved from a bad diving experience by mermaid Nicky, who places him back on his ship and slips away into the seeeeaaa. BUT-- I just went to a kickass shipwreck museum and felt inspired, so I tweaked the concept a little. 
> 
> There are singular words and little sections of dialogue that are in italian here– that’s a headcanon. Nicky has learned little bits of italian in the ports closest to his cove, and it makes it easier to communicate with Joe. Italian is NOT my language, but it’s not Nicky’s either here– not really. So, his italian will be broken and bad. I did my best to research each of the words, though, so they’re at least understandable. If they’re not, let me know!
> 
> EDIT: I forgot to mention that I’m blending Mermaid/Siren lore with Selkie lore. Nicky being able to remove his scales is gonna be important later. 👍🏻 
> 
> Anyway enjoy <3 let me know if you like it. I need validation to live.

The morning had been blustery and hot. The scent of ozone made the sea air thick as it blew through his hair where they all stood, crowded around the lower deck. They all squinted against the bright sunshine, but Joe knew better than to trust the blue sky.

”If I’m getting in, I’ve gotta do it soon—“ he spoke up, cutting into some conversation that he hadn’t been listening to, “There’s a storm coming in from the East.”

Nile— still so young, so far from the American Midwest, and in her first field season— raised an eyebrow at him from behind her sunglasses.

He smiled at her bemused look, shooting his gaze over to Andy. Andy smirked, huffing a laugh. “If anybody knows, Joe knows.” 

“That’s what I’m here for.” He joked, winking. Andy rolled her eyes. 

“Just get in the water, al-Kaysani— quit flirting with my wife.” Quynh pretended to glare. She shoved his oxygen tanks into his arms. “You have fifteen minutes to find your white whale. Do your biologist thing, take samples or get your pictures. And then come right back.” 

The _we don’t have anymore time or money for this_ was unspoken, but clear as a bell to Joe. He knew it. Booker had been drinking about their budget for a week, tight lines around his eyes as he crunched the numbers and called that Copley guy who held the purse strings. 

The team was already likely to lose half the day to the weather— which meant Joe was taking precious time for this. 

He nodded, meeting Andy’s eyes. “If I can find out what this creature is, we can figure out how to safely relocate it. You can get back to your dig, and nobody gets hurt.” 

“I trust you.” She finally sighed, shoulders deflating and lips pursed, “Now get in the water before the clouds roll in.” 

As he hooked himself into his gear and sat himself down at the edge of the low deck, he prayed it would be a routine dive— a mysterious creature, territorial, a loner as far as Joe could see. He’d dealt with all these things before. It was probably just a rare species of shark that he couldn’t get a good look at. 

But why, then, did he feel that heavy ozone of the day in the pit of his gut? Why did he have such a _bad_ feeling about this? 

He had no way of knowing how badly things would go, that saying _nobody gets hurt_ would be so damned ironic.

He ignored the apprehension, and leaned back, letting the weight of his tanks lead the way. Bubbles consumed him, popping and fizzing around his suit. The water was a familiar embrace, Joe put the anxiety out of his head. 

It was easy to ignore, here in his element. 

Time became a smooth, slow-moving thing under the waves, just as it always did. He moved through the water with the satisfying drag of his flippers up and down as he swam, his underwater camera providing a steadying focus, and a reminder of why he was here. 

_Gotta take pictures of this strange creature..._ He restrained himself only to deep, slow breaths, wanting to sigh and shake himself of the sudden wave of nerves that passed through him like a chill. 

The water was quiet and empty, and he was struck with the uncomfortable feeling that he was intruding in someone else’s home. He supposed he was— this creature deserved to be here just as much as they did. Much _more,_ actually. How much of Joe’s live had he spent dedicated to that philosophy? 

Maybe he never should’ve taken this job. 

He had no idea how long he’d been down there when his earpiece popped, nearly sending him jumping out of hi skin. 

_“Joe—“_ Andy’s voice crackled through to his earpiece, _“Okay, that’s enough. You’ve had your time to look for that thing— if it’s not there right now, that’s all the better. We need to get a look at the starboard side of the wreck.”_

She was trying to come off as her usual self. She wanted to sound as if it was a relief that whatever that thing was, at least it was gone. As if getting more time with the barnacled and briny Roman shipwreck was all she cared about. Joe could hear the sharpness in her voice, though. She was scared, and she wanted him out of the water.

It was unlike Joe to be uneasy in a divers suit, especially in the waters he’d grown up in— even if it was the opposite shore from home in Tunis— but the hammering of his heart was starting to take hold. It took more effort than usual to keep his breathing even. He mentally grasped at his training, his years of experience, his degrees. How many times had he dived in the Mediterranean? A thousand?   
  


He’d be fine. That was what he told himself, at least. He used his experience to try to steady his jumpy muscles, ease the never-ending running of his mind. But he knew, when he really stopped to think about it, that relying on past experience was also part of what left him in the dark. After how many years studying the Mediterranean— its creatures, currents, conservation— and they’d stumbled on something that Joe had never seen before. Not in his home sea, and not anywhere else. 

Was it a shark? A squid? It was big. The size of a creature you’d find on the open ocean. But, it was here? In a sea like this?

Whatever it was, it was pretty territorial of this shipwreck, and it did not want them coming any closer.

This was a problem— academically, scheduling-wise, _money-wise._ The others were getting antsy and annoyed, and Joe couldn’t blame them. He was an oceanic conservation activist, sure. But he was an academic, too— he understood the constraints of a field season, and the pressure to impress the funding bigwigs. He got it, really. 

Joe liked Andy. He really did love her and Quynh. They’d been friends since university, he trusted them. They wouldn’t hurt any wildlife, they wouldn’t pollute the water, they knew how to manage a big barge like theirs without doing any real damage. The others were great, too. He liked the whole archaeological team, really— Lykon and Nile, both archaeologists, and Booker, the... well, he kept the books, managed the tech. He hardly enjoyed boats, but he was a fun drinking buddy. 

The archaeologists themselves weren’t the issue.

It was the money bags that wanted to get this creature _out of his site._ It was all Merrick and his grand museum plan— Andy hated the posh, British bastard. Anytime she had more than two shots in her, she was bitching about how he didn’t even want to study the context of the wreck. It was for some stupid art exhibit.

They all had the distinct impression that Merrick wanted this creature out _permanently._

As the resident marine biologist on site, Joe wasn’t about to let that happen.

_“Joe, get up here right fucking now.”_ Andy’s voice cut in again, _“We don’t know what it’s capable of— and the weather’s starting to really turn up here.”_

He could feel it, too. The water had been warmer than usual the moment he started his dive. The currents were swifter.

He just thought they had more time.

But the waves were getting stronger now, and he felt the tug of the water as he swam on. If he could spare a glance upward, he knew there’d be a swirl of gray and white, shadowed with wave breaks, the sun clouded overhead.

He knew he should head back. He _knew_ it.

Joe checked his oxygen levels as he swam a little faster around the perimeter of the ship, past the hull and into the shadowy cavern of the wreck itself. He had time. He’d _make time_ if he had to. He had to see this creature for himself— if they could figure out what it was, Joe could maybe figure out how to get it to leave. He could maybe figure out a way to protect it from Merrick and his money.

He didn’t make any signals back to Andy— not a word. He couldn’t spare the brain power, not when any nook or cranny could hold that unidentified creature. Possibly _dangerous_ creature.

He resisted the urge to bolt for the surface, breathing slow and careful as he scanned the water for anything strange.

The water at the surface was starting to get more tumultuous, and the effort it took to keep swimming on course was starting to drain his oxygen tank and zap his muscles.

He should’ve known things were about to get bad.

There was a flash of a dark shape from the other side of the wreck— a long, glimmering shape, the same color as the storm-tossed sea above and around them. It was only there for a moment, then gone. Joe raised his underwater camera, poised for another sighting.

He waited.

And waited.

It seemed like it might have been some benign little shadow, and Joe was about to write it off, when it suddenly drifted by him again.

It was closer now. It was _big._ It was as big as a man, easily, maybe longer. Its tail whipped around, and he could’ve sworn he saw… arms? They were pale— it’s tail was long and dark, up over its back, too, but the fins and the belly and the face of it were different. It was pale and luminous, and a halo of darkness hovered around its face. Joe lifted his camera, and paused.

It looked almost _human._

There was a sweeping current just then— a huge wave on the surface must’ve built up and crashed above— and Joe was lifted by the force of it. His hand jerked and the camera went off, even as it dropped from his grip. The oxygen tanks on his back slammed up into the roof of the ancient ship, something sharp stabbing into his thigh. He wanted to scream— whatever it was, it was deep. It was deep and it _burned,_ and he was bleeding. A cloud of red swirled up and around his body, all the way up to his goggles where he could still see this strange, shark-like, mysterious creature in the near distance.

Joe was trapped. He tried to reach down, to inspect whatever was impaling his leg, to _get out,_ but something had caught on his tanks and pinned him to the ceiling.

The panic set in. He jerked and twisted, his training flying out the window into a haze of blood-tinged terror as he tried to kick out. His leg— his entire body — _burned._ For oxygen, from the agony, with the sudden clench of adrenaline flushing through his veins as he struggled to keep his mouth around his oxygen and not waste the precious little he had left.

He was going to die here. He was going to drown. Yusuf al-Kaysani— Champion distance swimmer with 20 years of diving experience all over the world, ocean conservation activist, marine biologist at the forefront of his field— was about to be buried in the sea he’d fought his entire _life_ to protect.

There was poetry in that that Joe would’ve maybe appreciated if this was a story. If this wasn’t the end of his own damned life, if it didn’t hurt so damned badly, if there weren’t a hundred things he still wanted to do and say—

Andy was yelling in his ears, blurred to a desperate fever pitch with his hammering heart. He couldn’t make out the words, but he was sure he was out of oxygen by now. If he could see it all from the outside in, he would’ve been shocked that he was even able to keep the useless tube in his mouth, able to keep from screaming outright and inhaling the salty water right into his lungs—

He couldn’t remember what his last thought was about as the world started to go into a dark tunnel. Maybe it was about his family, maybe it was about work, maybe it was cursing taking this stupid job in the first place— he definitely sent out some desperate prayer. He definitely felt the Arabic in the depths of his soul, begging Allah for _something_ that he didn’t know what…

The last thing he saw, though, he would always remember. There was a flash of dark scales and glowing pale skin, the feeling of someone gripping his shoulders, and the sight of huge, bright eyes staring up at him.

They were the color of the sea after the clouds cleared, and Joe wondered if this was Allah’s way of calling him home. If this was an angel, telling him the storm was finally over.

* * *

The cove was a safe place. What did those humans at the _porto_ call it? A _casa?_ This was _his_ safe place. 

It wasn’t a place to bring strange humans. 

The merman told that to himself over and over again, worrying his lip and staring at the human that— despite what all past experiences with humans had taught him— was in his _casa,_ on his pile of _reti._

The human wasn’t dead, at least. He could see his chest heaving, he could hear his ragged breaths echoing off the walls, and the steady thump of his heartbeat. He could smell his acrid blood— he had inhaled it through the water by that wreck, right into his lungs as he pulled the human out of the ruins of the _barca._ He could still smell it, could taste the coppery tang on his tongue. 

He was hesitant to look away from the body in his cove, but he forced himself to sink back into the pool. He ducked back under the surface of the water, trying to clear his lungs of the foul stench of fear that had come off the man in waves. 

When he came back to the surface and looked back across the rocky floor, he poked only his eyes above. 

The human was still there. Still breathing, still sleeping on the soft pile of tangled _reti_ and dense, slippery kelp. He was still bleeding, too, the spike still protruding from his thigh like an _amo_ with blood soaking the dark second skin covering his body. 

He had seen suits like this before. He had seen this human before— out at his _barca_ on the seabed. There were other humans that went there, too. 

What did they want? They had a huge _barca_ of their own, one that still floated, even. Why did they want his? His _barca_ on the seabed was in pieces, not good for anything but shelter and hunting. It didn’t even have any _reti._ The humans always wanted _reti—_ those tangled sheets of knotted fibers that caught poor, unsuspecting creatures. Creatures like him. 

He didn’t like the humans. They had these strange skins and removable fins, and they made something go tight and fearful in his chest. 

Not _this_ human, though. This human had been fearful, too. He had been twisting and writhing— he was trapped. 

The merman knew what that felt like. To be trapped and alone, to feel death at your shoulder. 

The fear still tied itself in knots around his ribs, constricting his breath and making his hands tremble. But ultimately, that understanding— a strange bond of kinship— tugged him forward, spurring him toward this stranger. He heaved himself out of the comforting embrace of the water, and onto the stone floor. 

Slipping out of his scales was never easy— the first steps on his own two feet always felt awkward and coltish. The rock was too cold and hard on the delicate soles, and he winced as he readjusted to legs, taking slow steps across the cove to the sleeping man. 

He crouched beside him and took the chance to study him more closely. 

He was… he was so _beautiful._

With the hood of that blue skin suit removed, a mane of tight black curls sprang out, still wet from the sea and matted to his head. They stuck out in haphazard tufts, and it made his lips twitch for some reason. It made him itch to touch this human— his handsome brown skin, and the curls of his hair and his beard, the softness of his cheeks and the slope of his nose. His eyes were still closed, brows slightly furrowed, even as his breathing finally evened out to a steadier, calmer sound. 

He wished the man would open his eyes. 

The hand he reached out with felt as if it still moved through water, floating out gently to stroke along the skin where the hair of his head met the hair of his beard. Reverently, he continued tracing his hairline, feeling the skin— clammy and cold— underneath his fingertips. The man was shivering, a fine tremble underneath his touch. He still smelled like nothing but blood and terror. His leg looked painful, and there were still lines of tension in his body and face that told him he was right. 

This human needed his help. 

Taking a deep breath, he shook himself of the desire to just sit and stare all day. This man needed warmth, and comfort, and they had to take that nasty spike out of his leg so he could heal. 

What else did humans need? He flicked out with his feet as if his tail was still there where it belonged, his mind turning over itself as he tried to remember all the things that he’d seen and heard from the _pescatore._ The merman chewed his lip and studied the man. 

The _pescatore_ were so terrible— they cut their _reti_ into the sea when they no longer had a use for them, they plundered his waters for fish until there were almost none left. They were so _selfish._ What if this human was like that, too? What if they were all the same? 

That was when the lashes fluttered, brow shifting and stretching, and a rattling cough came up from the man’s chest. His eyes opened wide, but he didn’t seem to see for a long moment, blinking and squinting and looking wildly around. 

He was second guessing everything in an instant— this human was in his _casa._ He was injured, yes, but he could still hurt him. Humans were selfish. He could try to take him away, or tie him up in his _reti—_

Scrambling backward without waiting for this man to look at him, he dove into the comfort of the water, pulling his scales with him. Heart pounding, trembling in the peaceful quiet of the sea under the ledge where the human was awake, he tried to remain calm. This was a mistake— it was a horrible, _dangerous_ mistake. 

Steadying himself, the merman kicked his tail just enough to break the surface. Just enough to look up and see the beautiful human in the dim light of the cove. 

He was propped up on his elbows, his dark eyes glimmering and intelligent as he took in his surroundings— the makeshift nest of disused human fibers, the pile of kelp under his head, the spike protruding from the meat of his thigh. He went ashen and sick at the sight of his leg, and swallowed hard. He started to reach out to the _amo_ there, but seemed to get too dizzy from the movement. The man collapsed back against the _reti_ with a gusty sigh, staring at the ceiling. 

His heart was pounding, but there was something about this human that didn’t seem dangerous. Even stranger, the tug on his chest was still insistent behind his ribs, urging him closer, out of the water, to the man’s side— he felt _called_ to him. 

He flicked his tail, drifting toward the edge of the rock floor and sending the tiniest ripple of water lapping up against it. 

The man’s head snapped to the side, following the nearly imperceptible sound, and the merman froze. 

They locked eyes, and every muscle in his body went tense. His gut was twisting into anxious knots as the human studied what little of him he could see above the surface. 

“Y-you…?” He gasped out, his voice rough and quiet, echoing through the chamber, “I… it was you, you saved me?” 

The words didn’t make much sense, but he could make out that the man wasn’t threatening. He swam right up to the lip of the pool and let himself lift his head and shoulders out of the safety of the water. 

“Where the hell are we?” The man asked, getting more confident, “I-I need you to take me to a hospital. My leg’s all…” he spared a quick glance at the _amo_ there. The sounds from his mouth were nothing more than sounds to his ears, but the human was asking for help. He was definitely asking for help. 

The merman could only watch, let the nonsense noises wash over him. There were no words for him to say, there was nothing he could parse out to respond. He didn’t get it. 

He could only frown, shaking his head. 

The man didn’t seem to like that— he could smell _irritation, anger, aggression._ His handsome face pulled into a pursed-lipped glare, his eyes trying to connect dots that weren’t there to connect. “D’you even _talk?”_

He swallowed, sinking a little deeper into the water. He didn’t understand, he didn’t even know, really, _why_ he had saved the human. He just couldn’t leave him. But, now he was here, and he didn’t know what to do next.

He wracked his brain for something to say. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth as he tried to make it move, _“S-sei… sei ferito?”_ He’d only heard the phrase once— there had been fire at the _porto_ and humans running. It had smelled like char and blood and desperation.. 

The tension in the human on the nest seemed to drain out of him, a relieved smile of shiny white teeth crossing his face. 

His heart skipped erratically— the human was _smiling_ at him. 

“You _do_ talk, _alhamdulillah.”_ He exhaled long and loud, _“Parli Italiano. Siamo in Italia?”_

He looked lost. He looked confused. He looked like he really wanted an answer, but the noises only sounded vaguely more familiar than the ones he’d been making before. 

The look on the merman’s face must’ve said something for him, because the smile was slipping off the man’s face in no time. His chest was heaving again, like the pain in his leg was starting to get the better of him— he still smelled like pain and fear. So much fear. 

He just wanted the man to smile again. He wanted him to not be afraid, so he lifted himself up to sit on the edge of the pool and inched closer to the human. Humans needed comfort, right? 

Apparently, he’d done something wrong. All color left the man’s cheeks, his eyes blown wide with an emotion the merman didn’t understand. He still smelled like fear, fresh fear now, not the leftover trauma from his experience. Had he made it worse? 

“Okay, whoa.” The man tried to back up, sliding deeper into the nest of _reti_ and letting out a muffled grunt as he jostled his leg. “Whoa, whoa, whoa--” 

_Didn’t this human understand that he had to keep still? He’d only make it worse if he tried to move—_ a little noise rose up behind his teeth, cooing to the human as he pulled himself closer. The man tried to move again, and he didn’t even restrain himself from rolling his eyes as he pulled himself to the human’s side. 

He didn’t even bother taking off his scales, using both hands to gently resituate the human. He struggled at first, making those useless noises again, but immediately fell silent and still when he put his wet hands on him. He smoothed his palms over the second skin the man wore, moving slowly and carefully. Trying to be comforting. He held the man’s gaze, and felt his heartbeat rabbiting in his chest under his hands. He took deep breaths, performing for him, trying to get him to mimic his calm without the words that he didn’t know how to say. 

Those eyes weren’t just dark. They were liquid and deep, like a still pool, even with the gears of his mind turning so fast. With every ounce of tenderness he could muster, he pulled one of the human’s hands up from where it had fisted itself in the holes of the _reti_ and placed that hand on his own side. 

His scar was thick and raised, a jagged tear in the edge of his flesh— he shuddered at the memories, and the irregular feeling of hesitant, exploring fingers there now. 

He coughed, clearing his throat and struggling to get out the terrible words he needed to say. _“Ero… in trappola? Ami da pesca… reti—“_ he gestured to the nest where the human laid, met his eyes to find his intelligent gaze flicking from his side to his hand, before looking back into his eyes. All he wanted was to help— he knew _how_ to help. 

_“You were trapped? In a fishing net… with hooks?”_ The man replied, and the sound of his Italian just familiar enough to be clear. It was much prettier than the people in the _barcas_ and on the _porto—_ he had a lilting accent. It was delicate and sweet. 

There was a heat blooming in his cheeks as he nodded, his lips tugging up into the smallest smile. 

It was a wonderful thing— to be understood. 

_“You know how to help me?”_ the man nodded absently, falling back into the nest again as he dragged his free hand down his face. As if he thought he might wake up from a dream. 

When he looked back to the merman again, his gaze trailed down over his scales— the long tail, the deep glittering blue of it; the patterns of scales along his sides and up his spine; the webs between his fingers. The man’s mouth worked around nothing but air, as if words escaped him. His eyes were wide and confused and curious. The hand still lingering on his scar slipped down, tenderly sliding over the line where flesh met tail. It made him shiver, breath stuttering as the edges of the human’s callouses tickled his sensitive flesh. 

No one had ever done that before. He had always been alone. 

_“What are you?”_ He finally whispered. 

He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t understand— but he did know that he could help. And if it kept those intelligent eyes on his, and that heartbeat under his hand… 

He supposed humans weren’t _all_ that bad.


End file.
